Deal with the Devil
by Fictatious
Summary: A surprise attack by a playful bandit interrupts a discussion between the Pharaoh and two of his advisors. Snowglobe-AU, Egypt-times.
1. Chapter 1

"It's because of the grain shortages. Merchants and vendors are raising prices to levels that force peasants into theft to feed their families. That theft in turn is used as excuse for greater injustices," Seth explained as he walked down the hallway, two paces behind the Pharaoh.

The Pharaoh nodded in acknowledgement of his words and asked, "What do you recommend?"

"I feel the best course of action would be to impose a maximum limit to the price sellers are able to charge for grain," Seth replied, having already thought every which way around the problem, just as the Atemu trusted he would have. "This will minimize the burden to the poor and prevent merchants from profiting on their country's misfortune."

"That's an excellent suggestion, Seth. Thank you." Atemu smiled; fallout from the effects of the summer's drought had been making themselves more and more pronounced in the past few weeks and it had been increasingly weighing on the Pharaoh's mind.

"My Pharaoh," Mahad interjected at the pause. "If the army's rations were cut by ten percent, it would save enough grain to last an additional four months, if the unfortunate event should transpire of another drought in the coming season."

Atemu nodded slowly. "Ten percent is a significant cut," he said doubtfully.

"But if it prevents a famine in the coming year, I believe the sacrifice to be well worth it," Mahad said.

"I agree with Mahad," Seth offered. "The army is well disciplined and should easily be able to understand the need."

"It is not the soldiers I am concerned for so much as their families," Atemu said, shaking his head. "Having less food for their wives could lead to an increase in the number of children our people are forced to bury."

Mahad nodded, understanding his concern. "If the rations were to be cut by only six-percent, then it is-"

The conversation was cut off abruptly when a heavy weight landed against Atemu's back and he felt his arm being jerked up behind his back as a knife was pressed to his throat.

Mahad and Seth both had swords drawn in an instant, pointed toward the Pharaoh's captor. "_You damned thief!_" Seth snarled, eyes burning with rage.

"Release the Pharaoh _immediately_, Bakhura," Mahad ordered in a more controlled voice.

Bakhura's voice started giggling and then fully laughing just behind Atemu's ear. Atemu held perfectly still, waiting for the bandit to finish. The knife at his throat didn't shake even as the rest of Bakhura's body seemed to tremor with the laughter; the Bandit King had sure hands if not a sure mind. The laughing died into scattered giggles and Atemu felt Bakhura's face press against his shoulder as his captor seemed to attempt to reign in his glee.

A moment later, Bakhura lifted his face and whispered into Atemu's ear, "I win!"

"I can see that, Bakhura," Atemu said calmly. "You surprised me. I was unprepared."

Bakhura let out a childlike laugh laced with abandon at what, to his mind, counted for praise.

"Unhand our Pharaoh at once, _dog!_" Seth shouted, taking a step toward them, his sword pointed at the bandit's head.

"Seth, please," Atemu said calmly, waving his free hand in a placating manner as Bakhura started to giggle again.

"You're just upset because you lost!" he declared.

"Bakhura, you've won, I concede. Now, would you please let me go," Atemu requested in a cool, level voice.

The knife vanished from his throat, disappearing somewhere into Bakhura's garments without so much a flash of bronze, as he laughed and hopped back, looking utterly smug with himself. Mahad moved to stand closer to Atemu and Seth stormed forward and pressed the tip of his sword to Bakhura's throat. The bandit made no attempt to step away from the blade, merely smirking at the priest.

"Bakhura," Atemu sighed, shaking his head. "You've interrupted a very important discussion about the nation's economy. Would you please allow us to continue?"

"Sure, sure," Bakhura agreed, his lips pulling back from his teeth into an almost grimace-like grin. He took a backwards-step away from Seth's sword and then spun and pranced away down the hall, shouting back over his shoulder. "But I won!"

"I know you did!" Atemu called at the retreating back. He then rubbed his hands against his face, sighing again and feeling tired.

"_Damn_ that mad bastard!" Seth growled next to him. "He should be _executed!_"

"He _is_ dangerous, my Pharaoh," Mahad said in a quieter tone. "Wouldn't it be wise to arrest his movements somewhat?"

Atemu shook his head slowly and let out a humorless chuckle. "I made a bargain with him. The gods would not look kindly upon me reneging on such a promise." He turned and started walking again the way they had been before the surprise-attack. "And even if Osiris could forgive me that sin, the blood-debt I owe to Bakhura would weigh on my heart."

Mahad sighed, shaking his head. "My Pharaoh's heart is truly a thing to be admired," he said. "Don't you think we should have at least confiscated the knife?"

"He'd just steel himself a new one and then one of my guards would likely find themselves to be ill-equipped at an inopportune moment," Atemu reasoned, shrugging it off.

"He's a bottom-feeder who doesn't deserve Pharaoh's kindness," Seth grumbled, replacing the sword at his hip and following along.

"I think he never received any before," Atemu mused. "A man is not born with darkness in his soul."

...

Atemu gazed out over the city, at the dim lights of lamps burning within mud-brick houses and at the bright, piercing lights above. The moon hadn't risen yet and so no other light dared to rival the stars' intensity. He sighed and leaned on the rail, thinking upon the day's excitement.

Seth wasn't the only member of his court who spoke against Bakhura being granted so much leniency. Nearly everyone, with the exceptions of Mahad and Mana, voiced their objections quite regularly. They said that the Pharaoh had invited a snake into his home, and they were, of course, right. Bakhura was far from being a tamed serpent and even if he hadn't had a love for his assassination-attempt games, his presence still would have made many uneasy.

"_Show me."_

"_What?" Bakhura's expression had shifted suddenly from furious accusations and frigid mirth to puzzlement._

"You must have proof of what you say, to make such an outrageous accusation against my father's name. Show me," Atemu had demanded.

_Bakhura had looked startled for a moment, as though completely unprepared for such a challenge, but he quickly recovered his mad humor and grinned at the monarch. "No proof that can be carried on a horse," he'd said slyly. "The proof is in the ruins of Kul'elna."_

"_Then show me," Atemu had said, standing._

Bakhura hadn't been prepared to be believed. He had lived his life as an outsider to society and had grown accustomed to being called a liar. But the prince Atemu had long been aware of some dark secret which had plagued his father, and the bandit's words had intrigued him. The Pharaoh hadn't realized it at the time, but his decision to hear out the perpetrator of a capitol crime had so surprised the bandit as to entice him into complying with the request for proof. And he had given it.

"You see? You see?" Bakhura had sung, jumping on top of the alter stone a throwing his arms wide. "This is my proof! Everything I've said is true! I am the last son of Kul'elna and the Millenium Items are my rightful inheritance!"

"_And what would you do with them if you had them?" Mahad had asked, one hand gripping the Millenium Ring in a suspicious way, as though he expected it to be ripped away at any moment._

"_I will return them to where they belong!" Bakhura crowed, pointing to the stone under his feet. "And finish what your Akunum'kanon began! My people's outrage will bathe this world in darkness!"_

"_Unacceptable!" Atemu had said immediately. "Whatever your people may have suffered, Bakhura, I can not give you the Millenium Items for this purpose!"_

"_Give? Give? No need for giving, oh god-king! I would much rather take!" Bakhura declared with gleeful rancor._

"_Bakhura, listen to me! Doing this thing will _not_ bring your people's souls justice or solace!" Atemu had said. "Return to the capitol with me! I will give you scribes to record the legacy of Kul'elna and what happened here! It will be written in stone so that no one may ever deny what happened to your people!"_

_He seemed to have surprised Bakhura again, as the bandit gave him a wide-eyed look of interest._

"_Your legacy also will be recorded and when your body dies, you will be given the funeral rite of a noble! The people of Kul'elna will become immortal through you!"_

Atemu was startled out of his reverie by someone making a clicking sound with their mouth, as though to urge a horse forward. He turned around to find Bakhura sitting on an awning above him, swinging his feet idly in the air. His teeth flashed in the starlight.

"Did you notice?" the bandit asked.

Atemu blinked and then thought for a moment. "Apparently not," he replied. "What?"

Bakhura tossed something towards him that gleamed brightly in the darkness. Atemu caught the object and examined it. It was a gold armband. He glanced down to the space on his right bicep, where he remembered placing it this morning. A small, involuntary smile crossed the Pharaoh's lips. "You took that when you caught me earlier?"

"I double-won!" Bakhura laughed, jumping down onto the balcony with the grace of a cat.

"I suppose you did," Atemu agreed, sliding the arm band back into place. "You put Seth quite out of sorts in the process."

"_Three-times_ a winner then!" he declared with a cackle and leaned a hip against the balcony.

"Upsetting Seth is a win?" Atemu asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Hm, perhaps you're right, it's too easy," the bandit giggled. "Play dice with me?"

"You're rather energetic today," Atemu noted with a small smirk.

"I slept," Bakhura explained. "But I don't think I'll do it again."

Atemu sighed. One of the more frequent complaints about the bandit was that he didn't seem to sleep. When asked, he'd said that it was too much like death for his taste. This left him skulking the palace and city at odd hours of the night, much to the chagrin of the nighttime watch.

"I'll play dice for a little while," Atemu conceded. "But _I_ do intend to sleep tonight."

"Fair enough," Bakhura agreed with a shrug. He waved his hand and produced a set of finely crafted ivory dice.

Atemu raised an eyebrow. "Whose are those?"

"Mine, now." The bandit grinned cheekily.

Atemu shook his head; better to just let it go. "Just tell me you didn't take them out of somebody's grave," he asked.

Bakhura blew air through his teeth dismissively. "Half the fun is waiting for Seth to notice."

...

...

A/N:

I mentioned 'blood-debt' in here, but honestly, I have no idea if that concept was important in this era of Egypt or anything... I thought that I could either do several hours, possibly several days of research to find assure myself of the accuracy of that sentence, or I could just say 'screw it.' I decided on the latter.

Promising Bakhura a historical record and a 'noble's funeral rite' might sound like a kind of lame bribe taken in a modern context, but in the ancient Egyptian beliefs, your soul lives as long as your name and your face are remembered and your mummified body is preserved, so basically, the Pharaoh's just promised him immortality.

The dice being Seth's came as an afterthought. I suppose Bakhura likes tormenting him because he gets annoyed the loudest...

I rather like this snowglobe (micro-AU) I shall ponder writing more in here... Suggestions are welcome, but no pouting if I reject one, I'm obsessive-compulsive about logic and reason behind stuff, so it has to feel realistic (within its own context) to me for me to be able to write it.

See the 'Nomenclature' link on my profile for an explanation about my spelling of the Thief King's name.


	2. I guess this has chapters now

There was no moon that night.

In another day, it would come back in a tiny sliver of new, untarnished silver, but for tonight, there were only stars. They provided just enough thin, weak light to see how very dark the night was. It wasn't as though one couldn't see anything, of course; one whose eyes were properly adjusted to the inky world of a moonless night could make out one shadow from another. But even then, they were still shadows.

And the shadows had voices.

Bakhura crouched in a small niche at the butt of two outer walls, gazing across a short distance of no more than thirty cubits* at the darkened balustrade attached to the personal rooms of this land's, city's, palace's ruler. He was turning around within his hands an unsheathed knife, small enough to be easily hidden many places within his garments, small enough to be easily over-looked, small enough that were it not in the hands of an expert, it couldn't have been considered a deadly-weapon.

His lips were moving minutely, as though silently conversing with an unseen companion. His eyes were open wide and did not blink often enough, aching in the way of eyes that were too tired to close, of a man too thoroughly exhausted to sleep. He crouched there, cloaked in deep shadow, as deep a black as Anubis' ebony face, staring raptly at the Pharaoh's balcony.

It was perhaps for this reason, and due to his unique vantage-point, that Bakhura was able to notice one shadow moving against its similarly shadowy surroundings. He blinked a few times, assuring himself that it wasn't a delusion of sleep-depravation, and tilted his head with curiosity, watching the shadow slink along toward the lip of the balcony. There was a point on its journey which required a jump, and the shadow preformed the maneuver quite amiably; Bakhura considered clapping appreciatively, but appreciative as it may be, the shadow likely would not have appreciated it.

So instead Bakhura abandoned his nook and crept on silent feet, making his own journey toward what he assumed to be the shadow's destination. He made a faster advance; the other shadow moved with greater care and cautiousness, perhaps not as accustomed to the roofs and ridges of the palace as Bakhura. Because of this discrepancy in speed, the Thief King arrived on the balcony bare moments after the shadow slipped through the doorway to the rooms within.

The shadow hugged the walls and dark corners of the interior as it made its way toward the sleeping chamber. Bakhura followed suit, resisting the urge to giggle with delight at the discovery of this new playmate to incorporate into one of his favorite games. The shadow was quite good at this game and giggling would have certainly given Bakhura away, and so he crept silently and surely, navigating the room with ease as he followed his new playmate through to the bedroom.

The shadow was forced into a slightly lighter part of the room as it approached the Pharaoh's bed, and Bakhura watched with interest as the faint starlight filtering into the room illuminated the details of the shadow it touched. The shadow took a pouch from its belt, or maybe something more rigid, like a box of boiled leather, and opened it slowly and carefully. That made Bakhura too curious to be patient and so he crept up closer, until he could have reached out and touched the shadow with his hand, to get a look at what was inside the box.

"Ah, scorpions!" he whispered half to himself. "So it's to look like an accident then?"

The shadow jumped into the air in surprise and then whipped around to face Bakhura, its eyes wide. In the process, one of the tiny, yellow creatures in the box became airborne and landed on the stone floor. That simply wouldn't do, and so Bakhura ducked down and grabbed it up before it could run for cover. He looked up at the shadow and grinned, holding the arachnid up with its fat tail pinched neatly between his thumb and forefinger, helpless. The shadow stared at him, frozen with shock, for a long moment.

As the shadow seemed to get its wits about it, it snapped the box shut again and suddenly lunged for Bakhura, a small sword appearing from nowhere. Bakhura caught the blade against his knife with a small, bright clanging sound, and then dropped it and grabbed the shadow's wrist instead. His small knife fell to the ground with a clatter as it was abandoned. He was vaguely aware of the Pharaoh's voice behind him, sounding startled and tired, but he didn't pay enough attention to understand what the god-king had said.

He gave the wrist he'd captured a hard yank, pulling the shadow's arm forward and upward, and then used its weight to swing the shadow around towards the floor. He aided its descent with a kick to the back, as he pulled the arm backwards and felt the satisfying pop of the shoulder coming out of its socket. The shadow screamed in sudden agony and hit the floor. Bakhura let the wrist drop from his hand after a moment, planting a foot between the shadow's shoulder-blades instead, and wondered where his knife had landed.

"_Bakhura?_" the Pharaoh's voice flustered, and when Bakhura looked, he could see the man scrambling out of his bed. Other sounds had begun, a door crashing open and guards coming into the antechamber, calling for their Pharaoh. The light of torches soon poured into the room, accompanied by two nighttime guardsmen.

"I dropped my knife." Bakhura blinked and shaded his eye somewhat with his free hand.

Before the Pharaoh could respond to the bandit's complaint, the guards dove through the room and roughly grabbed Bakhura's arms while his eyes were still trying to adjust to the light.

"_Hey hey hey!_" Bakhura snapped as the guards attempted to pull his arms behind him and force him to the ground, "_Be careful!_ I have a fat-tail in my hand!"

"Wait!" the Pharaoh demanded, hurrying over from his bed. He paused for a moment, looking at Bakhura, before crouching down next to what was definitely not a shadow, curled in on itself, whimpering and gripping the dislocated shoulder. The Pharaoh pulled the non-shadow around so that he could see his pained face. "Who are you?" he demanded, and then looked sharply up at Bakhura. "Who is he?"

Bakhura tried to shrug, but the guards were holding him rather tightly, so he just tilted his head a little. "I thought it was a shadow. Apparently not."

The guards stared at Bakhura, seeming dumbstruck, the Pharaoh looked perplexed for a moment and then looked down at the non-shadow whose teeth were gritted and eyes squeezed shut. He must have known he was dead and was just hoping that it would happen quickly.

"He had a box of scorpions," Bakhura said helpfully. "You should probably find it and see if it came open again. I'm not sure where it fell either."

The Pharaoh stared up at him again and then repeated, "Scorpions?"

"It's very clever, don't you think? If he had managed to get out again without being seen, it would be nearly impossible to prove assassination," Bakhura grinned and turned his attention back to the non-shadow. "You're really quite good. I imagine you must make a fine wage," he said cheerily.

The Pharaoh looked at him for a few more seconds, seeming as though he were having a lot of difficulty understanding what Bakhura had said, and then he glanced around the floor and reached out, coming back with the box. Hard leather, Bakhura noted, pleased that his previous guess had been accurate, and still shut, its lid appearing to be a snug fit. The Pharaoh carefully pried up the top and looked inside.

More guards were arriving in the room, but they hung back, doing nothing to disturb the scene, which was now well in hand. The first two guards were still restraining Bakhura's arms, which he felt was rather rude of them, and he was becoming quite bored of it and also of the numbness in his left hand. He lifted the arm as far forward as he could with the guards still holding him and gave his hand, and the struggling scorpion secured safely between his fingers, a shake.

"This one wants to be with his friends, I think!"

The Pharaoh looked up at him, seeming startled and confused, before standing up and stepping around the non-shadow to bring the leather box under Bakhura's hand, so that he could drop his scorpion in with the three others angrily picking at the walls of their enclosure. The lid was snapped shut and as the Pharaoh started to look up again, he paused midway, staring at the bandit's hand.

He grabbed Bakhura's wrist, pulling him into better light, and the guard let go of his arm, looking concerned, but not about to argue with the Pharaoh. The Pharaoh turned Bakhura's hand over to expose a nasty welt forming at the base of his thumb. "It stung you," he said quietly, and glanced up into Bakhura's face.

"It stoppet hurtin'," Bakhura shrugged, then frowned, opening his mouth and moving his tongue, which felt strange. "Iss numb," he added and then wrinkled his nose in disgust at his sudden lisp, "Dabbit..." he grumbled.

"_Get a doctor!_" the Pharaoh shouted at one of the guards in the doorway and was immediately answered by the sounds of sandaled feet slapping across tile as the guard obediently ran back towards the hallway. "You and you, take this man to the dungeon immediately," the Pharaoh continued, pointing at two of his guards and then at the non-shadow curled on the floor.

"Juss one talm," Bakhura mumbled, irritated that he couldn't seem to articulate the words, and by the way he had started panting awkwardly. "Tak moh toe killw me."

"Bakhura," the Pharaoh's face was close to his now, looking worried and frustrated. Hands, supportive, not restraining, grasped the bandit's shoulders as he watched the Pharaoh turn to where the guard that was still holding Bakhura's other arm had been. "Let him go," the Pharaoh ordered in a firm voice and the hands that had been pinning him in place disappeared.

He swayed and the Pharaoh pressed at his shoulders, urging him to sit down. The blurring and shaking of his vision was making him feel seasick. Bakhura closed his eyes and shook his head slightly as he complied with the Pharaoh's wish, sinking to the cool floor. The cold against his shins felt wonderful and Bakhura suddenly noticed how very hot he was; he shrugged at his robe, trying to make it fall off his shoulders. The Pharaoh seemed to understand and helped him pull the garment off.

"Just sit still," the Pharaoh was saying quietly. "Try not to move."

Bakhura tried to say that he wasn't an infant, but the words came out so slurred as to be completely unintelligible. He made a guttural sound of irritation and then tipped himself over sideways, wanting to put his bare shoulder against the blissfully cold floor. The Pharaoh caught him midway, apparently thinking that he had clumsily fallen. Bakhura whined out a "Noo," reaching for the floor to demonstrate is intent, and the Pharaoh obligingly eased him down onto the tiles.

There was a lot of commotion in the room, a lot more voices than before, but Bakhura was only distantly aware of them because his heart was beating so loudly and persistently, seeming to demand his full attention. He did notice when somebody put a cold, damp cloth on his face; it sucked away some of the heat and left behind a bit of quiet relief. He found himself being picked up and moved, and he opened his eyes to try and see what was happening, but he couldn't focus and after a minute just gave up.

...

...

* 13-14m

A/N: I was very surprised at how long it took to find a description of the symptoms associated with scorpion toxin, and when I did find it, it was all in medical-language. Really, I would have expected to see more goth-kids describing it in morbid detail to each other on message boards and things... Maybe gothy forums just aren't googleable anymore, I remember that being half the links that came up on any potentially morbid or upsetting topic when I was in high school...


	3. this one's not a cliffhanger

Mana was slowly fanning Bakhura's dampened back when Isis entered the room and she studied the unconscious bandit's appearance carefully. Mana had rolled him onto his stomach, apparently, so she must not have been concerned about his breathing anymore. "How is he?" Isis asked quietly, stepping closer and crouching for a better look.

"He hasn't stopped breathing in a while," Mana sighed in a manor that said _It's not as bad as it could be, but it's not exactly good._ "And he's getting less twitchy, but the fever is still going strong."

Isis nodded, leaning down and brushing sweaty, matted hair back from the bandit's face. "He's not foaming," she noted, running her finger under his chin and then wiping it on the towel Mana had rested his face on. "Still too much saliva, though."

"Mahad said that if you can keep someone who's been stung alive for a day, they'll recover," Mana said quietly, setting down the fan and rubbing a wet towel over Bakhura's back before taking up the fan again. "So as long as I can make him breath, it'll be okay, right?"

"And if we keep the fever from addling his mind," Isis agreed, taking the damp towel and wiping the bandit's face with it.

"Isis, have you talked to him?" Mana asked in a skeptical tone. "I'm pretty sure his mind can't get much more addled than it already is."

Isis responded with a light 'tsk.' She didn't really think this was an appropriate time for smart comments.

Mana sighed, moving the fan to her other hand as her arm started to ache from the repetitive motion. "... He saved Prince Atemu's life..." she murmured softly.

"Pharaoh," Isis reminded.

"Pharaoh," Mana amended with a little nod. "... I wonder if he meant to, or if he was even thinking about it..."

"... He picked up a scorpion that could have more easily been crushed dead," Isis said slowly. "He was not thinking practically about his actions, if he was thinking about them at all."

"Well he's not really a practical kind of guy," Mana replied with a little shrug and a grin.

Isis smiled softly at her. "That you're attending to him personally instead of leaving such a task to servants speaks well in his favor, I think."

Mana smiled back, looking a little sheepish. "He thwarted an assassination attempt on my best friend," she said with another little shrug. "I think Pri-Pharaoh would want somebody looking after him properly. I haven't had a chance to talk to him because he's so busy and everyone's all wound up about the assassin, I can't even get near him, but I'm pretty sure he'd be happy that I'm looking after him myself."

Isis brushed Bakhura's hair back from his face again and touched his cheek lightly, closing her eyes. "His fever will go down soon," she predicted.

...

The twitching and jerking seemed to have subsided entirely by midday and Bakhura's breathing was strong and had required no further assistance since sunrise. It was probably early in the afternoon when Mana became satisfied that the fever was finally easing. She wished vaguely that someone would come and tell her what time it was. The sun was well out of sight as they were on an underground level of the palace, where the air would stay cool even during the height of the day.

She was immensely tired. She, like everyone else in the palace, had been woken up near midnight by the commotion that followed in the wake of the assassination attempt. She had not been the sort of Important Person to be woken up purposefully for official reasons, but she was a light sleeper and had awoken to the uproar that the unexpected attack had thrown the palace into.

Now, as the hours stretched on past the half-way point of the day, the lack of proper rest was starting to wear on her heavily. Mana yawned, and tried to distract herself from her sleepiness by counting the scars on Bakhura's exposed back. She gave up quickly; the ghosts of long-past lashings crisscrossed each other like weaving and between the more pronounced markings were fainter lines that must have stretched back for years.

Mana wondered how old Bakhura had been the first time he was lashed. Had it been for stealing bread to feed himself? A starving orphan, left unattended and forgotten by the world? She traced a finger along one of the newer scars, the skin over it was ruddier than the surround and slightly prowed, while the older scars, woven under and between, were thin, white lines. Mana wondered how many children living in the city had scars from whips on their backs.

She had never been whipped in any form, and when she was younger she might have considered that evidence of what a good and obedient girl she was, but since the Thief King had become a regular presence within the palace walls, she had been forced to wonder. Her father had been a high priest of the previous Pharaoh, and because of that, Mana had grown up within the safe and sheltered walls of the palace. She had been fed properly even when the rest of the land had suffered food-shortages, and she slept in a bed of fine linens. Being well-behaved and proper had been very easy for her.

Mana hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin atop them, staring quietly at the bandit in front of her and wondering. She wondered what she would have done, forced to grow up in his situation. She probably wouldn't have grown up. She probably would have died. Perhaps any normal person would have, she thought, studying Bakhura's slack features, strewn over with tangled hair.

She jolted slightly, realizing that her eyes had drifted shut, and shook herself awake. After a few moments, she crawled forward and pulled an ivory comb from her pocket, deciding to try and get that mess out of the bandit's face. She brushed slowly and carefully at the tangles, using both hands and putting all her effort into being gentle and not pulling. The simple task became mesmerizing, lulling her tired brain into the rhythm of her hand.

"What are you doing?"

It took Mana a moment to realize that someone had spoken and another to realize that it had been Bakhura. She looked down at his face, pressed apathetically against the mat under him with one eye cracked half open and looking at her vaguely. "Oh, I'm sorry. I woke you," Mana said, feeling rather foolish. "I- your hair was all stuck to your face because you sweated a lot from the fever and it looked itchy."

"Fever..." Bakhura mumbled, blinking slowly. "Ohhh, that fat-tail stung me..."

"Yeah, it must have got you pretty bad too," Mana agreed, continuing to comb the bandit's hair; it didn't seem to offend him particularly and she was nearly done anyway.

"He was probably pretty angry, getting put in a box..." Bakhura said, squirming and seeming to take stock of himself, but not yet ready to try sitting up.

"Why'd you pick it up?" Mana asked. "Why not step on it? You were wearing your sandals, weren't you?"

"No," Bakhura mumbled, shifting one hand up into his line of sight, as though making sure it was still there, before dropping it back down next to his hip.

"No?" Mana asked, slightly confused.

"No good for climbing. And they're noisy," Bakhura explained in a sleepy voice. "Only wear 'em when the sand's too hot to walk on."

"Oh," Mana said, considering his points. "But why'd you pick it up? It probably wouldn't have stung you if you killed it."

"See if I could." Bakhura shrugged one shoulder slightly. "I've caught 'em before."

"Really?" Mana wrinkled her nose a little, not sure if it was all right for her to find his nonchalance about such a lethal game amusing. "Why?"

"For money. Or fun. Or whatever." Bakhura shrugged again.

Mana couldn't help giggling that time. "Because your life wasn't dangerous enough? You had to add scorpions?"

The bandit chuckled softly in response as Mana finished combing his hair and sat back, looking at him carefully. He'd closed his eyes again and looked rather asleep except for the slight smirk on his face. "How are you feeling now?" she asked.

"Mm... Head hurts," he responded. "And I'm thirsty."

"I've got water here," Mana replied, leaning over to grab hold of the pitcher and a cup sitting on a tray next to her. "Can I help you sit up?"

"Pfffffff," Bakhura puffed dismissively at her suggestion and struggled around to sit up by himself.

Mana giggled again. "You're recovering really well, I guess," she noted.

"Like one little bug could take out the King of Thieves." Bakhura flashed a cocky grin at her as Mana pressed the cup into his hands. "What do you take me for, woman?" He seemed to have a little difficulty lifting the cup to drink, as though he was still having trouble focusing his eyes.

"I'm really not sure what to take you for..." Mana mused, watching him drink. "I'm kind of wondering why you risked your life to save the Pri-Pharaoh."

Bakhura shrugged. "Wasn't really trying to do either," he admitted.

"What were you trying to do?"

He shrugged again. "Play. Looked like fun."

Mana nodded, considering the answer for a minute before asking, "Would you have let that assassin kill the Pharaoh?"

"Nah." The bandit shook his head. "He was a punk. Pretending to be a shadow. Pffff."

Mana rolled that over in her head, deciding at length that she really didn't know what Bakhura meant, and tried a different approach. "When you first came here, you said that you intended to kill the Pharaoh," she said quietly. "Do you still want to do that?"

Bakhura tilted his head and seemed to think about it, before handing the cup back to Mana and settling down on his back. "Nah. That's them. I like playing with him."

Mana smiled. "I'm glad," she said. "We can be friends then."

Bakhura glanced over at her with a curious expression, looking intrigued by the notion. "He doesn't have any heirs, who'd be Pharaoh if he died?"

"Seth, I think..." Mana answered, frowning slightly at the morbid question.

The bandit flashed her a wide, amused grin. "Then it probably wouldn't be too comfortable for me if he died, would it?"

Mana couldn't help laughing. "Oh right! Seth would have you on the block before the sun set!"

"Pffff. He'd _try,_" Bakhura countered.

Mana laughed harder.

...

...

A/N: I wrote the first page of this and then moped around for a while. I'd started poking at other bunnies when jfox99 reviewed the last chapter and it made me feel warm and fuzzy so I sat myself down and churned out the rest of the chapter. So, there's a moral to this story, reviews make Lorlor write more. Get to it, kids; I've written you 1,786 words here and I expect some reciprocal wordage!


	4. Chapter 4

When Atemu entered the room, he found the Thief King sitting cross-legged on the sleeping palate, his gaze previously fixed on the sleeping form of Mana, slumped over on the floor, but now lifting up to meet the Pharaoh's eyes. He looked slightly more exhausted than usual, with deep bruises under his eyes and an unhealthy pallor to his face, but none the less he gave Atemu one of his usual mad, toothy grins.

"She fell asleep a while ago," Bakhura said, nodding to Mana. "She said she didn't sleep last night because she was making sure I kept breathing. Isn't that sweet?"

"She's a very sensitive girl." Atemu smiled softly and shook his head, watching as Mahaad, who had accompanied him, moved to pick her up. "But I wonder if you shouldn't be sleeping as well, Bakhura. Even you can't have recovered your strength that quickly."

Bakhura tilted his head to the side a bit, seeming to consider, and then asked. "What time is it?"

"The sun was just setting," Atemu answered, looking over at Mana, who mumbled softly when she was lifted carefully into Mahaad's arms.

"I'll take her to her chambers," Mahaad said quietly, turning from the room.

Atemu nodded and then turned back to the Thief King, who was now wearing a vaguely perturbed expression and staring at the wall. "Bakhura?" he called. "Is there something wrong?"

"Hm? Oh, no. No. It's fine. It's just not a good time to sleep," Bakhura said, shaking his head in a way that might have been meant dismissively, or was perhaps to clear unwanted thoughts from it. "They're going to be angry tonight. I'll sleep when Ra is watching tomorrow."

Atemu frowned, tilting his head slightly and considering Bakhura's statement. "... Who is going to be angry, Bakhura?" he asked.

"Ah? Mm, the shadows. They won't be as dark as last night, because the moon's back, but they'll be angry with me, so it'd be bad to sleep tonight," he explained, making his concerns no clearer to the young Pharaoh.

"... I'm not sure I understand, Bakhura," Atemu said slowly. "You said last night that you had thought the assassin was a shadow, and I didn't know what you meant then either. Will you tell me about the shadows?"

"The shadows?" Bakhura seemed unsure, a look of doubt Atemu had never seen crossing his face. "I'm not supposed to talk about them."

"Why not?"

"It's a secret. I'm not supposed to tell Pharaoh because Pharaoh is with Ra and they don't like Ra and they're already going to be angry with me, but they were angry with me before, so now they're going to be _very_ angry and I don't know if I can ever sleep again, maybe I just have to stay awake-"

"Bakhura," Atemu leaned forward and patting the bandit's knee softly to quiet him. "Please, the shadows you talk about, are they like demons? Why are they angry with you? Have you done something to offend them?"

"Angry, yes... they're angry because... I don't give the libation they want," Bakhura mumbled staring at the knee Atemu had tapped.

"What libation do they ask?" Atemu pushed.

The Thief King was quiet for a long moment, before finally answering in a very quiet voice, "My inheritance, the treasures of Kul'Elna. The libation must be offered at the alter below the city."

"... I see," Atemu said quietly. "Thank you for telling me this, Bakhura." A number of troubling thoughts began to tiptoe their way into Atemu's mind. Bakhura's explanation, while it may have been filtered through the rantings of a mad man, had a sinister, and possibly serious, undertone.

"I wasn't supposed to," Bakhura whispered, and something Atemu had never seen there before crossed his face. Fear. "I hope they don't find out..."

Atemu studied him for another minute and then asked, "Would you like to have someone stay with you until sunrise?"

"No. No. That would be a bad idea. No," Bakhura babbled, shaking his head. "I might hurt them."

"... Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Tell Ra to hurry back," Bakhura said, giving Atemu a hopeful look.

"... I'll try," Atemu agreed.

...

"If you're so great, why do you keep disappearing?" Bakhura glared at the moon reproachfully. "Do you have somewhere better to be?"

The moon didn't answer and Bakhura snorted irritably. "If you're so great, why don't you shine as bright as Ra?" he demanded, carefully finding purchase for his foot as he slowly scaled a wall. "Why don't you chase away the dark and send it fleeing to Osiris's kingdom?"

He paused in his progress again to fix the thin, bright crescent with another glare. "You think it's funny, don't you?" He growled and went back to climbing. "You like watching us run around like lost ants, don't you?"

As he moved his hand to find a new grip, a biting coldness crawled over his foot and started to make its way up Bakhura's leg. He froze, his eyes going wide, then he moved his hand over the rough surface of the wall more frantically, trying to scramble up out of reach of the icy shadow creeping over him, though he knew better than to think he could. "No," he mumbled. "No! He was a liar, a _fraud_, he was _insulting_ you! I couldn't let a miserable pissant like that kill Pharaoh! It would _demean_ you!"

The freezing touch moved out over Bakhura's arm and in the numbing cold, he almost couldn't feel his hand spasm and seize up, coming away from the stone wall. He didn't scream when he fell backwards; the wall pulled out of his reach and he felt suddenly weightless as the air rushed past him. And then the stone below came up to meet him.

He landed flat on his back and all the breath was forced out of him. Every part of his body rang like a bell with the concussive force. His head kept ringing the longest, as his limbs and torso faded into shocked and offended aching. Bakhura cracked his eyes open a little, giving the crescent moon one more glare as he gasped for air. "D-damn you, Khonsu," he whispered. "What good are you?"

And then the shadows swooped in on him and threw the world into total darkness.

...

"H-Hemet Isis!" The startled guard ducked quickly into a respectful bow. "What are- what do you need at this hour?"

"There's been an accident," Isis said brusquely, rushing straight past him and out onto the stone walkway beyond the door. "Hurry, call more men to carry him."

"Who, Hemet?" the guard called, chasing after her.

"Bakhura," Isis called back, not looking back as the guard paused and fell behind. She turned a corner and in the faint light of the moon, she could barely make out a figure laying on the stone ahead of her.

Isis dropped to her knees before she'd quite stopped her momentum and they slammed down on the ground painfully. She ignored the discomfort and reached out, running her hands over the prone body sprawled in front of her. She lifted his head carefully and ran her hand through Bakhura's hair, feeling no dampness from blood, and moved on to check for obvious abnormalities anywhere else. She found none, but wouldn't risk being relieved until she'd looked him over in the light.

She could hear a small collection of guards running up behind and Isis pushed herself back to her feet, turning to meet them. "Carry him, I'll lead you," she commanded.

...

"M-my Pharaoh," a voice called with a definite hesitance.

Atemu suppressed a groan. Would he never sleep a full night again? He pushed himself up, his entire being protesting, and tried to focus on the guards standing nervously at his door. "... Has something happened?" he asked, his head swimming a little at the shift in verticality and aching.

"It's... Hemet Isis has insisted that you be woken..." the guard said in a doubtful tone.

Atemu rubbed his eyes, feeling very much like telling them to go annoy someone else. "Why?" he yawned.

"I believe she had a vision, my Pharaoh. It's-" the guard hesitated, clearly not sure of what he was relaying. "Bakhura fell and she became very agitated."

Atemu quietly tried to process that for several moments. "... Fell?"

"Apparently from an outer wall, my Pharaoh," the guard said. "He was knocked unconscious."

Atemu stared at him, feeling a chill run down his spine as he recalled the bandit's concerns about having angered the 'shadows.' But that was ridiculous; Bakhura had fallen because he'd been trying to climb around the palace like normal while half-asleep and suffering the after effects of scorpion venom. Atemu shook his head and climbed out of bed. "Where is she?" he asked.

"A chamber in the temple."

"I know the one. Thank you," Atemu said quickly, pulling on his robe and not bothering to tie it. He hurried out of the room with a dismissive wave to the guards and jogged down to the underground levels and the side chamber of the temple where Bakhura had been treated the previous night and day.

"Isis," he called as he swept into the room. "What's wrong?"

Isis was sitting next to Bakhura with an array of healing tools spread out around her. She looked up as Atemu entered and nodded slightly in greeting. "I saw it happen. It woke me and I went to find him, but it had already happened," she explained.

Atemu nodded slowly. "Is he injured?" he asked.

"No, but he won't wake," Isis answered.

Atemu sighed and felt the urge to injure Bakhura himself. "That idiot. He just refuses to believe that he's not immortal or something."

"He did not fall, my Pharaoh," Isis said softly. "He was pushed."

Atemu stared at her quietly for a moment, not quite believing. "... By who?"

"By _what_," Isis corrected somberly. "In my vision, it seemed as a great mass of darkness, filled with anger and hatred..."

"... Like a shadow...?" Atemu whispered.

Bakhura moved suddenly, thrashing to the side, and his head started to tip over the edge of the headrest, but Isis reacted quickly, catching the side of his face. Atemu noticed then that she was using a powerfully inscribed headrest. "What are they?" he asked softly.

Isis shook her head slowly. "A demon, perhaps many demons, but they're very different from any I've encountered before... much stronger," she said softly.

Atemu stared silently at the bandit for a long while, watching Bakhura twitch and shake, apparently consumed with a nightmare. "He told me it was the 'shadows' who instructed him to assemble the Millennium Items," he said quietly.

Isis was quiet for a moment and then nodded slowly. "I think we must attempt to learn a great deal more about the Millennium Items."

Atemu nodded.

...

...

Notes:

So you may notice I changed another name, Atem to Atemu, and yes, I did go back and ret-con the previous chapters with the new spelling too. It was inspired by me screen-capping the giant gold cartouche in episode 214 and working out the phonetics of the Egyptian spelling. The swallow character on the end is indeed an "u" sound. Actually kind of an "ur," but it's my understanding that the phonetics can be a bit flexible when it comes to names, and actually the reed character that's been used for the "e" sound in his name is normally pronounced as a soft "i". Curious, but it's an important character, used often. So long story short, "Atemu" is not a katakana-ized pronunciation, it is exactly what the author intended.

"Hemet" = Priestess

I mentioned Atemu walking around in his robe without it tied; understand that this isn't a dressing-gown kind of robe with the front wide open. It's one rectangular piece of fabric, and normally the bottom corners would be tied up and around him; with it not tied, he looks like he's walking around with his head poked through hole in a sheet.

The headrest, I said it was "powerfully inscribed." In ancient Egypt, if someone was suffering from frequent nightmares, it was generally considered to be demons tormenting them, and the way to ward off the nightmares was like most other types of demons, with talismans and the like. A magicked-up headrest would have likely been inscribed with the same types of images used on a magic wand, including images of protective and healing gods, and probably with Bes very prominent.

So the first half of this has been sitting around my hard drive since pretty much right after I posted chapter three, and then I've written something like four different second-halves, and rejected them. I got all mad and put some serious thinking time into it when I should have been sleeping and finally came up with something that made me happy. So, here, have some plot.


End file.
